Pregnancy Super Powers 101

I am pregnant therefore I have superpowers. No, really, I do. It’s probably the coolest thing about being pregnant, especially since aside from the whole growing a human thing, there’s not much else to place in the Cool Category. I have many items to place in the Icky, Swollen, Expensive, Embarrassing, and Terrifying categories, but Cool consists primarily of “growing a human.” So add superpowers to that list and call it complete.

Superpower Numero Uno: Spidey Senses

One of the first superpowers I acquired by virtue of successfully harvesting sperm was a super sniffer rivaling that of an Israeli airport dog. Seriously, want to stop the flow of drugs into the United States from Mexico? Stop using sub-par German Shepherds and hire pregnant women to sniff around those tail pipes. Problem solved. Anecdotal evidence is as follows:

Around three months into our pregnancy, at a time when staying up past 7pm was a wild night, Lonnie and I cultivated a little ritual. He would sportingly trek up the stairs with me, read a chapter out loud to me from some crazy pregnancy book until I began drool-snoring, then creep back downstairs to watch endless episodes of Futurama until it was the bedtime for real adults. One night, being of the petite and svelte figure that he is, Lonnie decided to make a quesadilla. Normal people make quesadillas the lazy way: take a tortilla, throw it in the microwave (no plate needed; after receiving radiation on par with that of Fukushima, the tortilla becomes its own plate) toss some processed cheese-ish product on top, and wait 30 seconds. Lonnie, however, having a refined quesadilla palate (read: this is the same man who once took a piece of pizza, wrapped it in a tortilla, and squirted in Ranch dressing to make a “pizza burrito”), insists on using the oven to make his ‘dillas. So he did.

Just as it was nearing baked awesomeness, my spidey senses (while drool-snore-sleeping) detected that ‘dilla. Instead of registering as an “oh, Lonnie must be using the oven to make a snack”, the message came blaring through to my hormonal body as a Grade 10 Air Quality Index Emergency to which I responded by jumping out of bed, grabbing my poor, unsuspecting pooch by the butt, and screaming for everyone to get out of the house immediately. Safely outside, I was certain I had just saved my budding little family from imminent doom until my confused husband, quesadilla in mouth, opens the front door to find out why I had rushed outside while carrying our dog upside down (or, butt-side up). My new super power clearly needed some fine-tuning.

Super Power Numero Dos: The Hand on Belly Power

This power is one that gets stronger as you get fatter, kinda like my inability to avoid Double-Stuff Oreos. This power must be exercised carefully, as it can easily be used to fulfill some hormonally driven mal-intent (or general laziness).

Here’s the situation: Your husband bought expensive walkie-talkies from Best Buy because he thought they would be really cool to use while caravaning from DC to Texas. You remind him about the modern invention of cell phones with Bluetooth and implore him to return the walkies seeing as they cost more than an average trip to Costco (I don’t care if you just went in for eggs, you are leaving with twelve catalouples and a flatscreen that hangs on the side of the bathtub). He argues back that Best Buy has a thirty day return policy, even if the box is open, so voila! Use them for the trip and they go back upon arrival in Texas.

Thirty days (predictably) comes and goes, and the walkies are still sitting on the kitchen counter. Urgh. Fighting the “told-you-so” urge with every fiber in your being, you take matters into your own hands, grab the 1960s version of the cellphone your husband insisted on having, and walk into Best Buy. The customer service agent politely explains the policy, to which you nod woefully in understanding… but then, you take your hand, and ever-so-lightly rest it on that big ol’ belly of yours, and MAGIC! You walk out of the store, refund in hand and walkie-talkie-less once more, just as the 21st century intended.

You may be tempted to whip out this power and use it for evil (like when you really don’t want to wait your turn in line at the DMV), but you must resist! Or give in only occasionally (okay, I tried it at the DMV and those people could have given a rat’s patootie. I swear they have been genetically modified to be free of normal human emotions, like compassion or happiness).

Last, but not least, I leave you with the Power of “Lightening Crotch”

This one sounds awesome, but is actually friggin’ awful. I saw this on a blog and thought as I approached my due date, electrical rays were going to shoot from my loins. Furthermore, If I were able to learn to control this crotch lightning I could do cool tricks like zap Lonnie when he won’t get out of bed the fourth time his alarm clock goes off (If I had heard “Timba” one more time this morning, I would have resolved to buy a stun gun in case my lightning crotch malfunctioned or was otherwise insufficient).

Call it my poor reading skillz, but it turns out “lightning” is a far different thing than “lightening”. What I thought was going to be the world’s coolest pregnancy superpower actually super-sucks. Lightening crotch, come to find out, is a term for when the baby drops down into your pelvis and proceeds to punch you in the vagina whenever she feels like torturing you, including in the middle of introducing yourself to your neighbors. Judging by their responses to the faces I must have been making as my baby went all Mossad on my cervix, we will not be invited to the next block party.
So there you have it. Pregnancy superpowers 101. We are just a few weeks away from D-Day! Won’t that be a fun experience… we are planning a natural birth, so prepare yourselves for the blog post that will follow that life event 🙂

The reason (in part) I have 23,529 unread emails

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This week let’s start by playing a little word association game. I will put down the name of a baby registry place, and I’ll tell you what comes to mind (this is less interactive than I had hoped).

1. Babies’R’Us: Gimmicky–something about offering parking for pregnant people right next to the handicap spaces. I saw a man with three fingers, an eye-patch, and a wooden leg get out of the car next to Suzie Cream Cheese who was approximately 3 months 4 days and 7 hours, give or take 12 minutes, with child. She nearly dismembered his remaining leg with the auto-spring door to her BMW/Hummer/Armored Tank in that neat little spot for those poor pregnant moms-to-be. Can those expectant among us really not walk that extra 30 feet? If not, get thee to thy healthcare provider and have them check for gestational diabetes complicated by excessive laziness.

2. Buy Buy Baby: Can you actually buy the baby? That sounds illegal and illicit. I’m intrigued.

3. Target: WalMart but with less obesity and really good cheese dip. Archer Farms, you have succeeded. Although something about shopping for cheese dip in aisle 6 and then a breast pump in aisle 9 has me hesitant.

4. Amazon: Newfandangled and techie, thereby “cool”. But I think older people will get confused when they google “Amazon address” trying to go to the Amazon store and find only this. That’s quite the distance to travel to buy a SwaddleMe.

5. Pottery Barn Kids – Pastels, an alarming lack of pottery, and preppy white people.

So, if you haven’t guessed it, we have been looking at baby registries. I have officially started like seven of them, immediately gotten overwhelmed, and quit. So now I get emails from each of the aforementioned places nine times daily and have taken to just not checking my email to see how many emails I can rack up before Google decides I am a robot or other form of internet safety hazard. I currently have 23,529 unread emails, no joke. I have a littttle problem with joining mailing lists–the free shipping’ll hook ya every time.

I think we are going to end up registering at Babies’R’Us and Amazon. I really do loathe the baby-in-a-can feel of Babies’R’Us, but I think we need an actual store on the list. Amazon is cool and I like that we can put anything on there from any website. All I want is that Petunia Pickle Bottom diaper bag and then I can call my life complete!

After deciding where we were going to register, we came to the problem of what to put on the registry. Let’s do a little math, but I’m not going to make actual calculations because that would mean getting off the couch which is not happening, so let’s say this is “Erika math”. A baby is like two cubic feet when born (sounds reasonable so far, eh?). That two cubic feet of newly formed life matter requires, according to baby-whoosie-whatsie-bloggy-bloggy-moms online, approximately 72,000 cubic feet of stuff (slightly less reasonable sounding, but go with it). That one little baby needs a crib, and diapers, and clothes, and bottles, and creams, potions, lotions, and goop. Then there’s bedding, and strollering, and bouncing contraptions that vibrate?… There are at least nine kinds of blankets these websites say I need lest I risk my baby staying warm in a blanket otherwise intended for an alternate purpose. Gasp! Is that a “receiving” blanket I see in your stroller?! And sleep sacks can’t be made from the leftover burlap Costco potato bag, I am told. So that option is gone.

Also, we just learned that newborns need the equivalent of “Kitten Mittens“, which is hilarious. We now have registered for baby kitten mittens in every color. Apparently it keeps them from clawing their own eyes out, or something like that.

Any advice mothers to be, mothers of old, mothers of mothers, or just people who have held two/plus babies before? (that would give you more experience with babying than myself. Double, to be precise. Again, not kidding.) If not, Kitten Mittens it is!

PS. Email count at the conclusion of writing this = 23,537. Bring it on, Google.

Pink and Blue BBQ

balloons

This past week at our ultrasound we learned whether we were to be spending our summers on the softball field or the baseball bleachers, and to celebrate the news, we threw a little party in our postage-stamp sized backyard. Lonnie was so excited to announce the gender (there’s even a Lebron James themed video, for your viewing pleasure), and he had been planning all the details for two weeks – and by “he had been planning” I mean he would email me midday with a new idea I was to execute upon arrival at home… I have never been to a craft store so many times. There are 1,500 miles on my car and I think 700 of those were from trips back and forth to AC Moore. Also, glitter has a habit of sticking to one’s unmentionables in a not-so-fun way.

The idea was this: invite all our friends in the DC area over for a summery BBQ. Require everyone to dress in either pink or blue, depending on what they thought we were having, then unveil the gender in some excitingly dramatic fashion. Turns out, nothing is more exciting and dramatic than cake pops (Google it. Cake pops = the most exciting thing ever), so that was the method through which we would convey the chromosomal identity of the little alien residing in my uterus.

Cake pops

It rained in the morning, and we freaked out about how we were going to fit people inside our tiny little townhouse. But nature had other ideas and brightened things up for us. It was beautiful, sunny, and pleasantly muddy by the time people started coming by.

We had so much fun (read, stress and panic) setting things up and getting ready. Lonnie iced down cases of St. Pauli’s Girl and Blue Moon (clever, eh?), I made a pink and blue pennant chain (as cutesy as I get), and we bought 900 pounds of fruit from Costco. Finding fridge space for 18 cantaloupes is really, really challenging and I feel like I should now be qualified to work as some sort of spacial engineer. Resume builder, check!

Pink Lemonade      Lonnie Grilling

Drink station   penants

Around 3 o’clock we were set for the big reveal. Everyone grabbed a cake pop and bit in to find out we were the proud, albeit terrified, future parents of a baby GIRL! Cue the special playlist Lonnie made (Beastie Boys “Girls” seemed appropriate at the time), jokes about a near-future trip to a gun store, and mazel tovs all around. My new job as a professional headband shopper has just begun!Jenny with Cake PopMe and Lonnie in front of tree